


Disgrace

by TheAndorianMiningConsortium



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: bad language, gross stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 02:23:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3592752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAndorianMiningConsortium/pseuds/TheAndorianMiningConsortium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drex goes too far, so his father punishes him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disgrace

In his office, on Deep Space Nine, Martok slept, and he dreamed.

He dreamed about the past: he saw Drex as a child, and ran after him, catching the boy by his wrists and then hoisting him up high over his head and throwing him into the air. Drex screamed and laughed, flapping his arms wildly as if to soar like a bird, until Martok caught him in his arms. “Again!” little Drex laughed as his father hugged him tight. Martok did it again, and his son's laughter filled his ears.

“What good are these childish games?” said a stern, familiar voice. Martok swung his head around to see his wife, Sirella, hands on her hips, a disapproving frown on her face, as usual. “They do not teach the boy to be a warrior.”

“What is the good of learning to be a warrior, if we cannot enjoy the lives we fight for?” Martok countered, wincing slightly as Drex's belt buckle got tangled in his hair and yanked his head sideways. He disentangled himself, and carefully set the boy down. “Children must play, _jawwI'_.”

Sirella clearly wasn't amused, but she said nothing, instead simply turning her back and striding back into the house. Martok heaved a sigh, then chuckled, and took his son by the hand. “Come,” he said, “let us go inside. Tonight, if you're good, I'll take you hunting.”

“ _maj!_ ” Drex smiled, running to keep up with his father's stride as they went into the house.

 

*

 

Martok awoke, looked up, and was slightly startled to find that he could see nothing on his left side. Then he remembered where he was, and all that had happened between those days and now. In his dreams, he always had two eyes. Waking up was a sharp reminder that brought him crashing back down to the present and to reality, every single time.

His communicator was bleeping- that must have been what woke him. Leaning forward, he pressed the button, and the image of a face filled the screen.

It was Drex. No longer a boy, he was a young man, with a thick mane of hair that mirrored his father's, a handsome face that he must have inherited from his mother, and a blossoming moustache that looked like he spent far too much styling to perfection. “What do you want?” Martok asked.

“Father!” Drex sounded furious, and his brown eyes were blazing with anger. “I am on board Deep Space Nine!”

Now that he mentioned it, the scenery behind Drex, that Martok could just about make out, did look like Cardassian architecture. “What are you doing here?” Martok asked, a little dumbfounded. “Why hail me on this device, when you can just walk into my office?”

“I had intended to meet with you, father!” Drex snarled. “I _did_ send you a message last week!”

Oh, yes. So he did. Martok had almost forgotten about it.

“But,” Drex went on, raging, “your changeling law enforcer threw me in the prison! And he took away my _d'k tahg_!” Drex was practically screaming now. Martok could understand that – to be imprisoned was the gravest of dishonours a Klingon could ever endure, and to have his family knife removed was a further jab, it added insult to injury.

“What did you do?” Martok asked calmly. Part of him was already angry at Drex... for though he didn't exactly like Constable Odo, he knew that the changeling wouldn't throw anyone in prison without good reason. He also knew that Drex would probably be released in due cause, so his imprisonment was not permanent, and his honour had not been stolen... but Drex, unaccustomed to the ways of the Federation and the Bajorans, did not understand this.

“I killed a Ferengi,” Drex replied bluntly. “He was trying to sell me counterfeit goods. They were an obvious fake. I told him if he did not take his items away, I would kill him.” A pause whilst Drex drew breath. Then... “he did _not_ take them away!” he fumed. “So, I did as I promised. It was satisfying to see his body fall down on the floor. Then, that changeling petaQ arrested me.”

Martok heaved a weary sigh. “My son, as I have already explained to you, the legal system here is different to what it is on Qo'noS. We're not at war with Ferenginar, so we cannot go about killing them as we wish, no matter how much they may deserve it...”

“You speak the words of a Federation weakling,” Drex began.

Martok stood up abruptly, moving his face closer to the screen so that he could snarl in the boy's face. “And _you_ speak the words of a disrespectful toDSaH. A young man should honour his parents, not argue with them over petty matters. I think that you do not wish me to arrange for your release.”

Drex ground his teeth in anger, but didn't say anything. From somewhere off screen, Martok heard another voice. “Alright, time's up.” Odo's voice.

Drex's eyes widened, and he scowled over his shoulder at Odo, then returned his attention to his father. “Cause my release!” he cried. “It's not as though you can't afford it! I know how much money is in our account!”

“Ha!” said Martok. “Perhaps a few days in prison will teach you some things about life, my son.”

The screen went blank.

For a few moments then, Martok sat there, digesting what had just happened. Then he returned his attention to the communications device, and contacted Sirella. And together, they formed a little plan...

 

*

 

Three days later, Martok went to the holding cells, duly prepared with a bundle of light and scruffy clothing which he carried over his arm. He didn't enjoy speaking with Odo, and he tried not to scowl too obviously when he greeted the changeling, but he had a feeling that the constable had picked up on his distaste anyway. Odo retrieved Drex's knife from a locker, and handed it to Martok. Martok promptly slid it into his own belt, next to his own. Then the General went to the holding cell to greet his son.

Drex instantly jumped up, both relieved and angry to see his father. “ _vav_!” he fumed. “I have been in this prison for three days! Cause my release!!”

“Do not order me about in that fashion!” Martok yelled at him. Instantly Drex fell silent. “Now,” said Martok, taking out a padd, “Constable Odo has spoken with the family of the Ferengi you killed, and has agreed to release you into my custody, on the condition that I see to it that you're punished for your crime.”

“What madness is this?!” Drex raged.

“ _When I am talking, you will be silent_!!” Martok snapped. Drex shut his mouth. “A ship is waiting for you in the docking port. You are to report to Qo'noS orbital base where you will begin your new duties.”

“The factory? What is an officer of the Klingon Defence Force to do at a factory?”

Martok allowed a small hint of a malicious smile to crease across his face. “My son, you are not going to be there as an officer.” Drex's eyes widened, but he didn't interrupt. “You are to be a civilian labourer, cleaning the toilets, fishing shit out of the bends with your bare hands, if necessary.” He consulted his padd. “You will report to B'Kala, who is in charge of the labour workforce there. Whilst there, you will follow her orders. You will speak only when spoken to. You will eat what you are given, or what scraps you can scrape from under the table after the other workers have dined. You will call your superiors _joH_ , and they will refer to you simply as _Doch_.” In the Klingonese language, _joH_ meant 'lord,' and _Doch_ meant 'thing.' “Your allowance will be reduced to a quarter of what it is now, so you will have to spend your money carefully. And above all, you will not waste time on fighting with your colleagues. You will issue challenges _only_ when honour allows it. And, you will take pride in doing your job well. Your superiors should be able to look into the water of a toilet you have just cleaned, and see their faces shining back at them.”

Drex's mouth opened again, but this time, no sound came out. His jaw flapped stupidly. He was livid, and he couldn't think what to say.

“I'm revoking your commission,” Martok went on. “Temporarily – I _hope._ After one week, I shall be asking your superiors how well you have served. If I am satisfied with your conduct, your commission will be reinstated. If not...” he shrugged. “You will learn what it is like to live your life on the bottom rung.”

Martok himself had served as a civilian labourer for a five year stretch. Drex knew this, and thought that his father was trying to take revenge on _him,_ for his own ill fortune. “But,” said Drex, “Just because _you_ –”

Martok knew what Drex was going to say, and quickly interrupted. “One week! _If_   you behave properly. That is a _very_ short time, Drex. It will give you a new appreciation of life, and will teach to appreciate what you have. Now, do you agree to my terms? Or shall I allow Constable Odo to keep you locked up in this prison cell forever?”

Drex ground his teeth, but bowed his head respectfully. “I accept your terms,” he said grumpily. Under the circumstances, Martok's solution was the lesser of two evils.

“Good.” Martok pressed the button to release Drex from behind his forcefield. He held out the bundle slung over his arm. “Take off your clothes, and put these on. Then we shall be ready for your departure. Once you depart for Qo'noS Orbital Base, I do not wish to speak to you or hear about you again, until your time is served. _bIyaj'a'_.”

Drex snatched up the clothes, looked at them distastefully, scowled, and bit back an angry retort. “ _vavwI' jIyaj,_ ” he said, forcing himself to be respectful even though it all but physically pained him. “May I at least have my _d'k tahg_?”

Martok gave it to him. “Use it wisely,” he growled, “or not at all.” He turned away.

Perhaps, thought Martok, Sirella had been right about Drex all along. Perhaps Martok had been too soft on him when he was a child. Or perhaps this sort of ugly behaviour was normal for children of wealthy and noble houses, who grew up able to have anything they wanted – Martok had no real point of reference, having not been born into wealth himself. All he knew was that he had raised a spoilt brat, and as much as he loved his son, he could not deny it. All he could do was try his best to teach him better, and hope that one day, Drex would grow into an honourable man, and understand his father's choices, and forgive him.


End file.
